


Notes

by Wandering_ChildRP



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23819515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_ChildRP/pseuds/Wandering_ChildRP
Summary: A modern day AU imagining of the musical version of Phantom.Christine Daae is a young student at the local music school who’s self confidence is lacking despite obvious talent. She longs for something deeper and to follow the connection and mystery that seems to follow her.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

The music college was a grand and sprawling campus. It’s buildings old and faded to ashen versions of their former colours, broken with courtyards bursting with colour and life. The cold autumnal air whipped around Christine's petite frame and caused her luscious, dark curls brushing her rosy cheeks and obstructing her vision fleetingly as the buildings came in and out of focus. The air danced and brought gentle bars of music to her along with snippets of conversations from people she didn’t yet know. Moving further and further from the campus, the noise died to only the rustle of leafless branches. 

As Christine pushed the heavy door of her apartment building open, she shook her untamed curls back into place with a shy smile to the young man passing her. Christine had only moved to the building two months prior after formative years in boarding schools it seemed like a dream to have some peace and space to herself. Last year was lovely in shared dorms but as soon as she got room to grow; she ceased it with a strong grip. She wasn’t antisocial but shy and unsure of herself. 

The building was old with attractive architecture of masonry stone but meant the apartments varied hugely in size, authenticity and view from its grand windows. Christine pulled the key from her lock and looked from the double doors which allowed the air to flow as they opened and the waist-high stone guard with its ornate carvings was always cold to touch. Her view wasn’t as beautiful as some but for Christine it was everything. She loved to sit on an evening with a book and watch the lights of the city beneath her, in recent nights it was turning too cold to keep the window open to listen to the piano that came from somewhere in the vicinity. The music would surround her and Christine would hum along as the pieces became more familiar. It filled her soul with happiness and warmth; a familiarity she couldn’t quite place and yet those late summer nights became something she craved. 

The day turned into evening as the sunset over the buildings of Paris and the cafes and bars bustled with people down on the road. The left concertina door was open to await the mystery beginning again, a heavy vintage air chair that had come from her childhood bedroom now resided Faces she recognised may occasionally drift by and some nights Christine would regret turning down the offers to come out but whenever those beautiful noises came into her ears; she felt nothing but calm and contentment. 

Tonight it started with scales. A warm-up perhaps; not that the composer needed it. The fingers danced across the notes effortlessly. As they began again Christine found herself growing louder. A momentary pause in the piano as Christine worried she had overstepped her position or maybe her father was his friends had just humoured her all those years. Maybe her voice wasn’t good. Her heartbeat raced and seemed to jump into her throat. Has she had the mystery musician before her, apologies would be tumbling from her lips and then she heard the low C be tapped with force. 

*1-2-3-4 *

Time. They were counting time. For her? Her delicate hands dropped from her mouth and to her abdomen and took a deep and grounding breath Once again she began singing, her voice travelling well above the crowd as her fingers draped themselves over the stone barrier. The scales began again with more gusto, volume and clarity. Had a window been opened? Peering excitedly into the lit windows across the cobbled street. If she could see the mystery composer, she dreamed of them. In her mind, it was a man but that’s because the music seemed sometimes too dark or aggressive to be written by a female but then Christine knew that was just her own silly predisposition to crave sometime from a trashy old fashioned romance; over romanticised and unrealistic to any modern or real world. 

Erik could hear her like singing crystal to his ears. He wished for this for so long; for some angel to sing his music but it terrified him deep within his core being so close now. All the years he’d hidden away and now this temptress sat so near to his touch. Erik’s long fingers danced across the ivory keys as the woman improvised with skill and devotion. It could have been minutes or hours until sweat dripped from his brow and his teeth grimaced in exhaustion. He turned the lamp of his top floor apartment off as he flitted quickly to the window he opened to listen to her, the curtains hid his face subconsciously as Erik looked over to the building across from him. He’d often admired it but thought his own small home was much grander and more beautiful. 

“Oh no...” Erik muttered to himself. “No...” He’d hoped the woman would be old or haggard but even at a first glance, he knew it was her. The young woman his heart had burst for. He hated how instantly he became enamoured by her simple act of walking down the street or the laugh as her friends gathered around her like no one ever had for him. Of course, she could sing so beautifully; he’d known it deep within him. He loathed her and yet his breath caught and his broken face creased into a smile. Lithe fingers pressed into the lines now in his face in surprise that those emotions may still be within him. It had been so long, he thought himself as subhuman now, something who needed nothing worldly and yet this woman dared to be so utterly perfect. However, deep within him was still shame and anger. What did he dare to do? Erik counted the floors and windows of that strange building as he tore himself internally for being so stupid to entertain indulging himself in such a way.


	2. Chapter 2

The night was now dying and yet Erik still was hunched over his antique, dark wood desk as his ink-stained fingers scrawled the musical notations of his work. Standing back and admiring every perfect note written by hasty hands, his back cracked audibly, his slender figure looked uncomfortable to some but as he tried to straighten out tonight he wondered how anyone would ever be able to get over the haunting figure which he possessed. Most he met, had feared him and he’d learnt to revel in that feeling of power. 

“I wonder what the songbirds name is...” Always falling into the dreadful habit of talking to himself. His mobile phone was for work calls only; Erik didn’t need to go out and rarely did he travel anymore. Although he did always think France brought out the worst parts of him. The anger could lay dormant as he travelled with a friend in the Middle East or any place that wouldn’t stare at his covered face. Maybe he could ask someone to post it for him but, he looked across to the familiar window. It was deeply clouded in darkness and dawn would soon break. “Should I tell her mine?”

Erik pondered before he scrawled his unreadable signature on the bottom left-hand corner. He pouted, reconsidering his next move as he brought his finger to his lips. The ink transferred and smudged itself to both his lip and edge of his white mask. How he loathed this and yet felt so grateful to have something that wasn’t fabric draped fully over his face or a bad prosthetic that only made his disfigurement appear more obvious. Glancing in the only corner of the mirror which he allowed to be uncovered, he could have been attractive; he made sure to keep his body slender with slight muscle coverage in the traditionally masculine areas. His wing fitted nicely and looked natural as it may do. The new mask had his strong cheek and brow bones; he wanted it to add to his presence should anyone dare to cross his path. Holding his head up high, Erik looked at the regal column of his throat and the thud of his heartbeat beneath his pale skin that only true passion could bring; his music and his new muse inspiring his every beat. 

“I wonder, my angel if you think of me, like I of you Wonder if you wonder of me...” He spoke to the low light with a quick turn on his heels and bend at his waist to write a note upon the top of the page. 

*“I enjoyed your addition to my music highly. Join me again. I shall leave a window open so you can hear my piano. Leave a note on your window if you have other arrangements.*

Erik tapped his pen on the wooden desk as his eyes dared to move to the window, his mouth dried in a way it never had before. Anticipation? Anxiety? Absorption of his attention to something possibly that be fruitless? 

”I will not allow myself to be distracted by someone not worth my time. I will solely devote my talents to achieving the impossible and for that, I will need a singer of her talent- proposed talent.” He corrected himself with his index finger pointed as if to teach an imaginary lecture hall where all would hang on his every word. “I must put her through her paces; train her to be my songs vessel.”

Deep within himself, he knew he was lying. The problem was he craved what the world would never allow; love and connection. Slender fingers slipped wrapped the music in a brown envelope as Erik jogged down the cold staircase of the house he spent his time in but really the only floor he spent any time on had his bedroom and, more importantly, music room. It sometimes seemed such a worthless and singular experience of living but he couldn’t stop of dwell or he’d drown in his own melancholy. He stopped to at the front door as his eyes caught ahold of a silken ribbon tying the top of a bundle of new tailored shirts, he unravelled the knot and retied a dark navy ribbon around the envelope. For others he would never go to such effort but occasionally hope could flare within him. Hope purely for his music, he whispered to himself.

Summoning all the bravery he possessed, Erik adjusted his dramatic wide-brimmed hat to sit just so as his eyes checked up and down the empty street and then with a lump pushed down his throat. The heels of his boots clicked on the cobbles as he strode across the street and to the songbirds building. 

The front was old which luckily meant it wasn’t littered with pushchairs or bicycles, as so often the case in modern apartment buildings. He despised those lobby's; he felt it unnatural to be surrounded by so many people. Erik liked to keep the level as low as possible and only those who had a purpose in his life. It was safe to say that could be defined as an unsocial man. Finding the door not quite latched, and with an audible tut at to the lax nature of some, he placed his wrapped music onto the front desk, where a few parcels already sat waiting for collection. He stroked over the notice in his own hand, second thoughts most certainly to expose himself like this. It surely wouldn’t end well for himself or anyone in his path. The slam of a door echoing down the wide staircase snapped him back to reality; the world closing in on him. 

*” To the Angel who sings on the fourth floor...”*

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Phantom piece and I’d love your feedback and if you like it- please tell me as I’m desperate to know someone likes my writing haha as Ao3 isn’t counting none registered views it can be disheartening and I do have a rough plot already planned 
> 
> If you have any ideas or want to discuss anything please inbox me and I’ll link you back to my tumblr account!


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